


The Bottom Line

by jeahtastic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Evil Space Boyfriends, Hux & Phasma BFFs, M/M, The Office - The Dark Side Edition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeahtastic/pseuds/jeahtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve reached the bottom of the stairs at the end of the bridge, off to the side in a relatively quiet corner. </p><p>“Careful, Ren,” Hux leans in. “That your ‘personal interests’ not interfere with orders from Leader Snoke.”</p><p>Ren looks down his nose at him. “You know nothing of my personal interests." </p><p>In which the movie plays out more or less the same but we get to spend it with the Dark Side (aka the Fun Side).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hux stalks down the hall, his boots echoing at a brisk, clipped pace. It would be unseemly for a high ranking officer to be seen running in a panic, no matter how close to the breaking point he teeters.

 

It's been one crisis after another this week, each nimbly avoided due to a combination of his capabilities and sheer bloody-mindedness. With the completion of Starkiller Base looming ever closer, Hux can't afford to have even a single piece of his carefully orchestrated plan fall out of place.

 

And then he has to deal with this: a petulant child who insists on knocking over the whole board, never mind the damn pieces, swinging his little light-up sword all over the place like a phallic, neon sign for his daddy issues. After it was apparent that these temper tantrums were starting to affect the First Order's bottom line, mainly their equipment budget, Hux had put out a ship-wide alert that he be notified immediately the next time it happens. He put out the order this morning.

 

Hux rounded the corner only to nearly walk into a pair of Troopers backing up. They snap to attention with dual echoes of "General, sir!"

 

"What's the situation here?" Although Hux doesn't know why he bothers asking, what with the sparks flying out of the room just past their shoulders.

 

The Troopers dart guilty looks at each other, evident even through their helmets. How best to describe the absolute pissyfit being thrown by a supposedly adult man?

 

Hux sighs. "Nevermind, just follow me." He pushes past them to confront the problem head on.

 

The Problem is currently slashing his way through another communications console, painting the machine in broad strokes of melted metal.

 

"Lord Ren," When he is ignored, Hux clears his throat. "Lord Ren!"

 

There is a pause, nothing but the sound of sizzling metal. First Order funds _literally_ evaporating into thin air. Ren turns his head, the mask staring blankly in the general direction of Hux and the two Troopers.

 

Hux steps further into the room. "Lord Ren, if I may advi--"

 

Ren slams his lightsaber down into the console with renewed vigor, as if Hux hasn't spoken at all. Looking back on it, Hux isn't sure what to quantify as the final straw. Is it his most recent meeting with the Supreme Leader that ended in disappointment and vague threats? Is it the hundred messages waiting for him on his console, over half of which wouldn't need to involve him if anyone else on this ship had even a modicum of competence? Or is the reason right in front of him, this infuriating, melodramatic, useless, son of a bantha--

 

"Ren, stop this!" Hux lunges forward and grabs the arm that isn't currently swinging a highly dangerous weapon. The mask snaps up at the moment of contact and Hux suddenly finds himself pinned to the console by his neck, Ren's hand --ungloved, for once-- choking the life out of him. An aborted movement out of the corner of his eye and Ren raises his other hand, still clutching the lightsaber, and the two Troopers are flung out into the hall with a _clang_.

 

The mask peers over him and this close, Hux can hear Ren's labored breathing. Even while pawing ineffectively against the hand around his neck, Hux refuses to show fear. So this is how he goes down, murdered by a tantrum-throwing bucket. Fine, so be it.

 

Perhaps some of his defiance bleeds through, because after another excruciating minute he is released. He gasps for air, sprawled inelegantly across the console, still trapped there by the madman who refuses to back away. He aims a heated glare at the eye-slits, the effect mostly ruined by his heaving chest. "Are you...quite done?"

 

The mask tilts in an almost inquisitive manner. In the hall, pounding boots and exclamations could be heard. Not wanting an audience for this frankly unprofessional display, Hux tries to shift up. Ren stands there like the dumb roadblock he is.

 

"Could you kriffing _move_?" And Hux places a hand on Ren's chest and pushes, ill-advised in retrospect, but is met with surprisingly little resistance. He is on his feet, uniform smoothed down to some semblance of normalcy, when Phasma and additional Troopers burst in.

 

Phasma looks between Hux and Ren, and then did a general sweep of the destroyed room. "Everything alright, General?" After a second's pause. "Lord Ren?"

 

Ren does an impression of a stoic coat rack.

 

Hux pinches his lips together. "Yes, Captain." He clears his throat with some difficulty. "Carry on. And send a cleanup crew. Please."

 

Phasma gives them a last lingering look before nodding sharply.

 

When their footsteps have faded down the hall, Hux whirls around to face Ren. Even straightening to his full height, Hux still gets the distinct impression of being looked down upon. "Listen, _Lord_ Ren. Are you listening?"

 

After a beat, Ren gives a tight jerk of his helmet.

 

"Good. Because I'm only going to say this once,” Hux crowds into the other man’s space, which unfortunately only accentuated Ren’s slight height advantage. “Cease your...displays, and we can keep today's event between us. I'm not looking forward to filing an incident report involving two high ranking officers, certainly not at a crucial time like this. Understood?"

 

Ren stares for a moment before nodding again.

 

"Alright then." Hux gives a tight nod of his own before turning on his heel and exiting the room with as much dignity as he can muster. Which is quite a lot. "Pleasant as always, Lord Ren."

 

For the rest of the day, Hux couldn't shake the feeling of a phantom hand curling around his throat.

 

* * *

 

 

One standard year. It has been one standard year since that walking pile of scrap metal blew into the First Order like he owned the place. And he's been causing trouble for Hux ever since. Hux remembers the whole choking incident like it was yesterday.

 

Because it was.

 

"The nerve of that bastard," Hux is pacing a line of fury into the floor of his quarters. "What kind of spice is he on?"

 

"I believe it's called the Force," Phasma answers from the couch, her trademark helmet and body armor discarded on the small dining table. "I can't believe you didn't file a report."

 

"Why?" Hux stops his pacing to frown at her. "Do you think I should've?"

 

Phasma shrugs. "Don't know, just seems so unlike you."

 

Hux runs a hand through his hair before compulsively smoothing it back into place. "Maybe I just wanted to preserve some order. Wouldn't do good for morale if the upper echelons are at each other's throats. Literally."

 

"Hm," Phasma takes a sip of her drink. It smelled strong. "Maybe."

 

"Or maybe I don't need another thing on my plate when you know, I'm sort of single-handedly building the largest, most impressive weapon this galaxy has ever seen."

 

"Single-handedly?"

 

"Or maybe," Hux exclaims. "Maybe it's because I know nothing will come of it anyway, because everyone just lets him do anything he wants!"

 

"Mm, office politics. The worst."

 

Hux collapses on the couch next to Phasma, who wordlessly hands him her drink. He takes a swig and immediately regrets it.

 

"Don't you dare spit that out," she warns. "That's good Axxilan lum."

 

Hux forces it down and hands the glass back to her. "Don't know how you drink that swill."

 

"Practice," her head lolls against the back of the couch, coming to rest facing him. "Also, I think it kills taste buds over time."

 

He scrubs a hand over his face and feels defeated.

 

Perhaps taking pity, because it can't be sympathy, Phasma half-heartedly pats his knee. "There, there. Look on the bright side."

 

He glares at her.

 

"No, really. Look," she knocks back her drink, as if she needed the strength to carry on this conversation. "The Base is coming along, right?" When he's quiet, she nudges his knee with hers. "Right?"

 

Hux grudgingly nods.

 

"And you figured out how to send all of Lieutenant-General Addor's incoming messages directly to trash."

 

"That was a hard one. He kept creating new addresses to send from."

 

"And honestly, Ren is just pulling your pigtails. I'm sure he'll get bored of it eventually."

 

"Pulling my pigtails?"

 

"Sure. We all think so anyway."

 

"We all?"

 

"If you're just going to repeat everything I say, I'm leaving."

 

"No, I just-- I can't comprehend--"

 

"Listen," she sits up, all the languid relaxation abruptly gone from her frame. She turns him towards her with both hands on his shoulders. "Stop giving him a reaction and he'll leave you alone."

 

"You think that's it?"

 

"I'm sure of it," she releases him and stands up to leave. "Now I have to go." She starts pulling on her armor. "Running a pack of your newbies through simulations today."

 

Hux eyes the empty glass on the floor. "That lum probably wasn't such a good idea."

 

"You kidding me? That's why I had it. Only thing keeping me from throttling those Troopers myself." She slips her helmet on, once again the imposing figure of Captain Phasma. "They're a better shot than the clones though, I'll give them that." With a salute, she exits his quarters.

 

Hux settles back against the cushions. Pigtails, huh?

  
In retrospect, Hux should've known better than to take relationship advice from Phasma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellow trashbags, feel free to hmu on [tumblr](http://jeahtastic.tumblr.com) so we can form a mighty trash heap together. (I also have no one to trade evil space bfs headcanons with so, if you're into that.) Also maybe a beta as I do have the next couple of chapters ready but beware, there are explicit shenanigans.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rated E does not stand for 'everyone', kiddos

His console on the bridge gives him a clear view of the proceedings around him. He likes that he gets to look out over operations, at the back of heads hunched diligently over their work. Behind him the entrance to the bridge swishes open and, judging by the minute ducking of his underlings' heads, he knows who walked in.

 

He keeps his own eyes trained to his console. Addor's messages are getting through again. That was quick.

 

He feels a looming presence lurking over his shoulder. Hux doubles his concentration. Addor is overly fond of preceding his official signature with "all my love"; maybe he should flag those as keywords to reject.

 

Something that may have been throat-clearing sounds behind him. Hard to tell through the mask. Hux inwardly sighs and turns around. "Ah, Lord Ren."

 

"General Hux."

 

A long silence pass. Hux raises his eyebrows. "Can I assist you with something, Ren?"

 

Ren shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I wanted to know the status of our budgetary report."

 

Well, that's a load of bantha fodder. If Ren actually cared about the bottom line, he might consider attending at least one of the monthly budget meetings. But then again, maybe that's why he has no clue. "I can send you the notes from the most recent meeting."

 

"Yes, that'd be..good."

 

Thinking that's the end of it, Hux starts to turn around.

 

"What is...your take on it?"

 

"We're improving on using funds more effectively, in several key areas at least. Still approaching the red for this cycle, but nothing a little creative allocating can't prevent." Hux frowns. "Why?"

 

"Just wanted to know that we're in good form." The mask looks up briefly, then down at the floor. "Especially the trouble areas."

 

Hux narrows his eyes. Trouble areas? The only trouble areas they've had in months were the peripheral items, like equipment repairs and replacement and oh. It's been nearly a month since the Incident. "You haven't destroyed anything in awhile."

 

"No, I have not." The mask is staring intently at him now. What's he expecting? A pat on the back?

 

"Well, good. Damage to our own supplies _should_ be kept to a minimum."

 

That blank stare again.

 

"You're headed to Jakku?"

 

Ren seems to shake off whatever revere he was lost in and clasps his hands behind his back. "Yes, at 2100 hours. Captain Phasma is readying the fleet."

 

Hux nods and turns back to his console, business once again. "Then I'll see you when you return, Ren."

 

After a moment of looming, the doors slide open and shut behind him. Hux releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

 

What in Malachor was that about?

 

* * *

 

At 0200 hours, a man is dragged on board. A man who is not Lor San Tekka.

 

"Bring him to interrogations," Ren commands with a snarl, audible even through the mask. A few Troopers scurry away with the prisoner. Ren stalks down the hall in the opposite direction. He smells of smoke and singed flesh, his boots encrusted with dirt and perhaps blood.

 

Hux falls into place besides him. "Lord Ren."

 

He is not spared a glance.

 

"Ren," Hux sidesteps in front of him, then gestures to an alcove in the hall. For a moment, it looks as if Ren would continue around him. Then he joins Hux off to the side. The ship is brimming with activity from the returning fleet, and no one pays them any attention as they scatter past.

 

"That man," Hux frowns. "is not Lor San Tekka." If Ren has gone off-script again, he needs to know before the Supreme Leader does. Sometimes damage control is all he can do when it comes to Ren.

"He is Resistant scum," Ren says with vitriol. "He has vital information."

 

"And you think you can get it out of him?"

 

Ren leans in and for the first time, Hux sees what makes him so intimidating to the lower ranks. "I know I can." With a flap of his cape, he storms off.

 

Hux looks after his retreating back, intrigued despite himself.

 

* * *

 

It isn't until much later that night, so late that it's the morning shift to half the ship, that Hux returns to his quarters. He's barely stripped off his uniform when his door panel beeps. His domestic droid rolls in from the living area and projects the view outside his door. It's Ren.

 

Hux has half a mind to tell him to psfassk off, but the possibility that it might be something important keeps him. In the year that Ren's been here, he has never attempted to visit Hux in his quarters. Hux pulls on some trousers but leaves with just his regulation undershirt on.

 

The door slides back and he is greeted by the impassive mask. "Lord Ren." After a quick glance into the hallway, Hux steps aside and motions Ren in. For propriety's sake, it's probably best not to be seen lingering in each other's doorways.

 

Ren's breathing sounds laborious, especially filtered through the mask. Hux takes a step back and eyes Ren's gloves, crusted with a deep, dark red and clenched at his sides. "I take it the interrogation could have gone better?"

 

A muffled snort, distorted. "Actually, it proceeded as expected. Better than expected.”

 

“Oh?” Hux is reluctantly impressed. “Did you use your…?” He wiggles his fingers by his temples.

 

Ren crosses his arms, probably pouting under that bucket. “That’s hardly an adequate way to describe the power of the Force. But yes, I did…” He wiggles his fingers in imitation and some dried blood flakes off his gloves.

 

“So we have the map, then?”

 

“Not exactly. But I know where it is. A BB-unit has it.”

 

“So now we’re chasing after a droid. It’s like a never-ending game of hot potato to them.” Hux shakes his head, dislodging a loose strand of hair. It isn’t styled for once, seeing as he was about to go to bed. He suddenly feels underdressed, with bare arms and toes, even though he has every right to be in his own quarters. “Have you told the Supreme Leader yet?”

 

“No, I…” Ren looks away. “I came to you first.”

 

“Mm, that explains the blood.”

 

Ren holds out his gloves as if seeing them for the first time. Then, finger by finger he begins to pry them off. “We’ll need to return to Jakku as soon as possible.”

 

Hux watches the pale skin being revealed and is quickly reminded of the last time he saw it: around his throat. “I’ll let Captain Phasma know to ready a retrieval squad.”  

 

Ren nods, loosely holding on to his soiled gloves. His bare hands put them on slightly more even footing, but Hux still can’t help feeling overexposed. He wants to see under the mask. Does the face match the hands? Or is he horribly disfigured, like the rumors he couldn’t help overhearing.     

 

“You think very loudly.”

 

Hux startles, color rushing high on his cheeks. “Stay out of my head.” ‘ _Fuck off!’_ he projects, just for good measure.

 

A staticky rush of air, perhaps a laugh, and then Ren sweeps out of the room.

 

Hux pads back to his sleeping area, glancing between his bed and his desk. He sighs and pulls the rest of his uniform back on. There’s no rest for the weary.

 

* * *

 

Shortly after, everything goes to hell.

 

Back ramrod straight, Hux gazes at the holo before him. FN-2187’s service records.  


“--was evaluated and sent to Reconditioning.” Phasma says in clipped tones.

 

“No prior signs of non-conformity?”

 

“This was his first offense.”

 

Somehow, Hux doubts that would help their case much. A single failure as prominent as this eclipses the fact that it’s Hux’s own first strike. Ren seemed to know about FN-2187, “the one from the village”, as soon as it happened. The power of the so-called Force, shrouded in mysticism notwithstanding, is growing more tangible.

 

Hux wordlessly leaves the bridge. Halfway down the length of it, Ren joins him. Was he waiting for him? Did he _sense_ him coming? A whole lot of good his little parlour trick seems to be doing now. An ugly, derisive hate wells in Hux’s throat.

 

His anger did not feel misdirected as Ren proceeds to question the capability of his soldiers, of _his methods_. Hux tampers down his rage. “My men are exceptionally trained, programmed from birth--”

 

“Then they should have no problem retrieving the droid. Unharmed.”

 

They’ve reached the bottom of the stairs at the end of the bridge, off to the side in a relatively quiet corner.

 

“Careful, Ren,” Hux leans in. “That your ‘personal interests’ not interfere with orders from Leader Snoke.”

 

Ren looks down his nose at him. “You know nothing of my personal interests.”

 

It’s not the response Hux was expecting and he watches Ren’s retreating back with wide eyes.

 

* * *

 

Seated at his console, Hux pours over the final machinations for the Base. With the betrayal from one of his own men hanging acutely over his head, he needs to remind Snoke, remind everyone, of another one of his numerous contributions to the First Order. A planet-sized weapon harnessing the unimaginable power of the sun should suffice as a distraction.

 

Speaking of distractions, Ren is on the lower deck of the bridge, his back to the room as he looks out across the star field. From the top deck, if Hux slides lower in his seat, his console effectively blocks out most of the infuriating man. Except his helmet, which is like a gleaming marble Hux wants to pop between his thumb and forefinger.

 

Lieutenant Mitaka approaches Ren, obviously having drawn the short stick in being the bearer of bad news. Hux already knows what this is about, having been informally briefed by Phasma through the internal instant messaging system. The droid had boarded a freighter...with the help of FN-2187.

 

Hux is out of his seat before the lightsaber is fully activated. He reaches the lower deck by the time it’s fully embedded in the unlucky console closest to Ren. He eyes the crackling weapon, prone after its short and violent rampage.

 

Ren turns to Mitaka. “Anything else?”

 

Mitaka swallows hard. “The two were accompanied by a girl.”  

 

A gloved hand is flung out, lifting Mitaka off his feet and forcibly dragging him to Ren. “ _What girl?”_

 

Mitaka struggles against the invisible hold on his throat, feet kicking helplessly. He gurgles nonsense.

 

“Ren, that’s enough,” Hux steps into Ren’s line of sight. They lock eyes, the gloved hand tightens. “I said _enough_.” After a moment’s debate, the Lieutenant is dumped unceremoniously on the ground, scrabbling to get away. Hux never breaks eye contact. “A word. Lord Ren.”

 

Hux stalks off, confident that the brat will follow. He enters his office, the nearest place for privacy, and only turns around after the door slides shut. Ren is closer than expected and crowds his space, but Hux refuses to be intimidated. Hux is brimming with fury, going on almost forty-eight hours without sleep, and the stress has him on edge. “I will not allow this type of unbridled behavior on my ship. I will not allow such utter disrespect, with a superior ranking officer on the bridge--”

 

“You,” Ren snarls, looming over him. “are not my _superior_.”    

 

“Yes I am,” Hux hisses, “In every possible way. You are not a leader. You have no idea how to be one. You antagonize my men--”

 

“ _Your men_ is what got us into this situation. One of them has absconded with a _Resistance prisoner_ . What you’ve trained your men to do, apparently, is _commit high treason_.”

 

The punch is reflexive, more of a knee-jerk response than the foolish thought that he could impart any real damage on the helmet. Hux regrets it immediately, cradling his injured fist with his hand.

 

The shock of it, however, had sent Ren stumbling away. As he regains his footing, he stares at Hux, who is breathing heavily just from pure rage. Ren straightens and in one swift motion, releases the clasp on his helmet and pulls it off. Hux barely hears the hiss of escaping air, running on fumes at this point, and openly gawks.

 

“How fucking old are you?!”

 

Not the right question. Ren lunges at him with a war cry, and Hux is struck with how deep his natural voice is. Why does he even wear the helmet? The front of his uniform is grasped and then Hux is being shaken, _shaken_ , like a damn sack of potatoes.

 

Ren is growling, his stupidly large nose almost bumping his own. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve cost me?”

 

“Cost _you? Fuck_ you!” Hux shoves at Ren with his uninjured hand. “My entire life’s work is being overshadowed by a wild bantha chase for magic, wand-waving, emotionally constipated, _pisshats_.” The last few words accentuated by rough jabs to Ren’s chest.

 

Ren gnashes his teeth, a guttural noise ripped from his throat, and shoves back with both hands still clenched in Hux’s uniform. Backed up to the edge of his desk, Hux falls backwards onto it, bringing Ren with him. Ren has one knee on the desk, the other leg braced on the floor to better leverage his weight on top of Hux. He bears down on Hux now, lifting him by his uniform to thunk his head repeatedly on the desk.

 

Hux good hand is trapped between their chests. “Fuck! You--massive--son of a--” Hux grits out in between thunks. He summons his last vestige of indignation and with his injured hand, slaps Ren hard across the face. The pain of it probably hurts Hux more than anything, but he’s getting a point across, damnit.

 

Ren howls in inarticulable rage and presses Hux into the desk, his standing leg slipping in between Hux’s, trapping him. Hux bucks up against him, struggling to dislocate the bigger man. Ren grabs his flailing injured hand and pins it to the desk, inciting a hiss of pain from Hux.

 

Ren is breathing hard and his heaving chest is a suffocating weight on Hux. “Why…”

 

“Why _what._ ” Hux spits with a defiant tilt of his chin.

 

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Ren sounds more confused than frustrated.

 

“Why the hell should I be?” Hux never has been and can’t find it in himself now. He refuses to be scared of a man with _freckles_ across his face. And full lips and tousled, messy hair. And so very young. Hux looks up from staring at Ren’s mouth and asks quietly, “How old _are_ you?”

 

Ren smirks, “A year older than you.”

 

Hux snorts, “Load of bantha fodder.”

 

“It’s true. You’re not so old yourself.”

 

Hux puffs out a surprised laugh. He is hit with the sudden ridiculousness of their situation and drops his head back with a groan. So much for being the responsible adult here. He shifts to get up but is kept still by a hand on his chest, the gentlest pressure yet it arrests him more than all the forceful shoving that came before. His brows knit in confusion, maybe curiosity.

 

Ren stares into his face and how strange it is, to finally be able to meet his eyes, deep set and dark. Ren descends carefully, almost in slow motion, and grazes his lips against Hux’s exposed neck. Hux’s breath hitches, hyper aware of the leg in between his, pressing down.

 

The rest of Hux’s high collar unfastens, on its own. Ren licks a slow, teasing strip up the side of his neck, ending just behind his ear. “I’ve wanted to do that for awhile now,” his low rumble hot and confessional. Ren grounds down against his thigh, just the slightest contact, and Hux can feel the hard length of him.

 

Heat pools low in his stomach and he wants nothing more than to _touch_ , so Hux tangles his fingers in the dark curls and crushes their mouths together.

 

It was like a dam breaking, his moans swallowed by an eager Ren, their tongues slippery and wet, too desperate for any kind of finesse. Is this what everything was building up to? All that miserable tension-- “ _Ah,_ ” he gasps as Ren bites hard on his bottom lip.

 

“Stop thinking so much,” Ren growls, the effect somewhat ruined by his disheveled hair and half-lidded eyes.

 

“Easy for you, probably not accustomed to thinking at all,” Hux is quickly silenced by Ren’s hand cupping the front of his trouser, stroking firmly but not enough. He pants open-mouthed.

 

“Stop talking too, while you’re at it.”

 

“Mm, make me,” It’s childish and silly, but Hux can feel Ren smile against his neck.

 

“Maybe I will.”

 

Hux is suddenly yanked upright by the front of his uniform, one of Ren’s hand digging into his hair and tilting his head, slotting their mouths together, just this side of rough. Hux’s hips jerk in response and they’re at the perfect height, grinding their cocks together and it’s so good but he wants to _touch_. He scrabbles at the front of Ren’s robes and luckily there’s a slit right in front, that’s convenient.

 

“Of course there are slits, it’s for mobility. Not all of us sit in front of a console all--”

 

“Shut up. And stay out of my head,” Hux reaches between the robes and yanks his pants down, hand finally around Ren and at the first stroke, Ren goes boneless, muffling his groan against Hux’s neck. Hux runs his thumb in lazy circles around the head, spreading the wetness down its length. It feels hot and heavy in his palm, velvety smooth as Ren fucks into his fist, little thrusts like he can’t help himself. Without warning, Hux is assaulted with the image of himself - on his back, spread apart, inviting. He stumbles back at the vividness, leaning heavily against the edge of the desk. “What was--”

 

Then Ren dropped to his knees and Hux is preoccupied with a whole other image. His pants are pulled down and his shirt pushed up. Ren mouths his cock through the thin fabric of his briefs, right where there’s already a wet spot forming. Hux moans softly, glad for the support of the desk. Ren gives the head a light suck right through the fabric and Hux nearly buckles under.

 

Hux is straining against his briefs, so hard he’s desperate. Finally, Ren pulls down his briefs to join his pants at mid-thigh, hand around the base of his dick. Ren licks his lips and Hux thinks he might start begging if his cock isn’t shoved down Ren’s throat right this sec--

 

“General Hux, Sir?”

 

Hux is going to scream.

 

A knock. “Um, everything alright, Sir?” Another Lieutenant who drew the short stick.

 

Ren smirks and with a careless flick of his hand, the door mechanism is crushed, the creak of metal bending inward, effectively locking them in and everyone else out. Hux glares at him. Was that necessary?  

 

Ren shrugs and then swallows his cock. Hux barely manages to stifle his curses. _Fuck fuck fuck---_

 

“General?”

 

Hux tears his eyes away from the sight of dick disappearing between Ren’s lips. _Fuck._ “Yes, I’m fine. _Leave._ ”

 

“Yes, Sir!” And they’re both relieved.

 

Ren sucks dick like he was born for it. He’s sloppy and eager, and Hux brushes a thumb against the corner of Ren’s mouth where spit has dribbled out. Ren moans around him and his hand disappears into his robes. Watching Kylo Ren jack himself off just from having your dick in his mouth is intoxicating.

 

With an obscene _pop_ , Ren surges to his feet and grabs Hux by the back of his head, fitting their mouths together. Hux sighs at the taste of himself on Ren’s tongue, and takes the both of them in his hands. They’re slick from spit and sweat and each other and it’s perfect. Ren growls against his lips as he comes, spilling hot across his fingers. The feel of it against his dick pushes Hux over the edge, in just a few strokes and his whole body tightens then releases.

 

They stay slumped against each other for a moment, catching their breaths.

 

Hux leans back and fishes out a handkerchief from somewhere in his desk. At Ren’s raised eyebrows, Hux asks, “Would you rather I wipe my hands on your cape?”

 

Ren looks disturbed by the idea.

 

They both pull their clothes in order, Hux attempting his best to smooth his hair back in place while Ren doesn’t even bother. The whole thing feels sordid and embarrassing and Hux hates himself for how much he enjoyed it.

 

He’s pulling his gloves on, paying the task more attention than it warrants, when he feels Ren step close. A hand reaches out -ungloved, he notes- and grasps his chin, forcing him to look up. He jerks out of the hold but holds his glare against Ren’s unwavering gaze. “Instead of prying into my thoughts, you could just ask me.”

 

“I don’t _pry_ ,” Ren glowers. “That’s not how it works. Besides, you think so loudly.”

 

If Hux’s thoughts are loud due to his untrained mind, then Ren’s face is equally telling, unused to being exposed without the mask. His gaze flickers to Hux’s kiss-swollen lips as if of their own accord, before he steps away with a minute shake of his head.

 

Ren strides towards the door, pausing to don his helmet, and flicks open the crooked door with a flick of his hand. The creaking metal makes Hux flinch.

 

Ren’s fluttering cape is scantily out of sight before Phasma darkens his doorway. She pauses at the threshold, taking in the state of the door.

 

“Everything alright, Sir?” Even through the helmet, he could hear the amused lilt to her words.

 

“Yes,” he sighs. “Fine.”

 

She hovers for a minute, then gently reminds him, “I can come back later for our meeting, if now is a bad time.”

 

Her report on end-of-the-month Troop expenses, which is what they’re supposed to be discussing right now, is scattered somewhere behind his desk after being swiped off during...certain activities. Hux wants to scream at the stars for a couple hours and it must show on his face, what with not having a mask like everybody else, because Phasma holds up a hand. “Sir, if it’s permitted, may we reschedule? I just remember I have some evening reports I need to catch up on.”

 

A blatant excuse, as Phasma is always timely with all her reports. Hux is eternally grateful. “Yes, that may be...wise,” he scans the hall behind her for any nosy personnel. “Are you free around 2100 tonight?”

 

She tilts her head and Hux just _knows_ she’s smirking. “Of course, Sir. Our usual conference room?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ll arrange for refreshments.”

 

She sweeps out of the doorway before he can say ‘please don’t’. It’s official, people with melodramatic capes are going to be the death of him.

 

He thumbs his comm on. “This is General Hux. I need a repair unit to my office.”

  
He eyes the damage to his door. So much for keeping equipment replacements in the red.


End file.
